


Pitches in the Sun

by inkshaming



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Marching Band, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Marching Band, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slice of Life, Unresolved Sectional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4702748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkshaming/pseuds/inkshaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The days are hot, the rehearsals are long, and if the woodwinds beat the brass in one more section challenge, brass captain Eren Jaeger just might punch the senior woodwind captain right in his smug little face - if he doesn't end up kissing him first. A high-school!au detailing the drama of summer marching band.</p><p>On Hiatus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Smells Like Summer Band

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kela_the_dragon_queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kela_the_dragon_queen/gifts).



> A few notes for those of you who were fortunate enough to avoid the certain hell that marching band could, at times, be, and for those of you who are, sadly, too long removed from it and ache for it just the same (like myself).
> 
> Front Ensemble - also known as the pit, is comprised of a collection of percussion instruments that are too large or unwieldy to move. This includes mallet percussion (marimbas, vibraphones, xylophones, etc.) as well as synthesizers and certain hell known only to me as "The Rack," which holds a collection of cymbals and gongs and wild-looking things that only the freshman are allowed to hit. More on this later - because you can bet Hanji is _very_ into this.
> 
> Battery - a name for the drum-parts of the "drum line." Classically comprised of snares, basses, tenors/quads, and/or cymbals.
> 
> Mellophone - hmm... how far do I simplify this without insulting the French Horns... it looks like a rather large trumpet, but basically, it's like a French horn designed to face forward, which is important for the performance acoustics of the band. Just think big trumpet, you'll do just fine.
> 
> Sousaphone - the large, wearable tubas, designed, like the mellophones, for the bell to face forward to improve its performance acoustics.
> 
> That is all.

The morning promised to be a scorcher.

Dawn had clocked in at a mellow burn, but the summer sun quickly sent the temperatures sky-rocketing. Heat already rose off the turf in shimmering waves, giving the empty field the illusion of being covered, end-zone to end-zone, in water that would never bring relief. It was 7AM, and the air over Sina High’s football stadium already smelled like sweat.

And August would only be worse.

From somewhere in the distance, the early morning calm was broken by the sound of front-ensemble fundamentals. 

“Gooood morning, Sina Marching Corps!” the pit captain yelled, much to their bleary section’s great dismay. The front ensemble may have been at it for weeks – stationary percussion made up for their lack of movement with music so mind-blowingly difficult it took months to master – but Hanji’s was not the sort of voice anyone got used to.

“Welcome to summer marching band!”

 

*

 

You could tell the band students apart from the rest of the poor souls that wandered the world that early summer morning by looking for signs of life. Band kids _staggered_ – like zombies – blinking slowly in the sunlight as they made their way to the field, instruments and water jugs and coordinate sheets in hand.

You could tell what instrument a student played by how they staggered. Flutes wandered up in twos and threes, chittering amongst themselves as they blinded all they passed with their fluorescent sports-wear and brilliant smiles, which were flashed despite it being too damn early for anyone to be so chipper.

Or at least Levi thought so, but the woodwind captain scowled and kept the thought to himself, cleaning and assembling his flute with the kind of quick efficiency matched only by marksmen with their favorite weapons. 

Clarinet players were more inclined to sneaking, cases clutched against their chest as they eyed the tower suspiciously – expecting, no doubt, to be pegged as a target for unwanted attention, and hoping to avoid it at all costs. The only exceptions to this rule were the clarinet and bass clarinet co-section leaders, Auruo Bozado and Gunter Schultz; though the former would certainly have benefited from upholding the trend.

The attention he attracted on a near-daily basis frequently came at the expense of his own tongue.

The saxophone players came in two varieties: the naturals, who had chosen saxophone with deeply-seated, jazz-fueled aspirations of wooing lovers into the night and sauntered in as such; and the double-reeds-turned-traitors, who carried their instruments as if they were some sort of foreign object, alternatively too cool and nowhere near good enough for them to be seen with in public.

Percussionists swaggered. Only the snare-line deserved to.

Trumpet players swaggered. They all believed they deserved to. Only about half of them proved to be right.

French horn players were the most eclectic of the bunch, with all of them radiating a certain… _much-ness_ that some of the more sensitive souls found unsettling. It showed itself in the way Armin’s stare seemed just a little too intense, for as kind as he was – or how the section leader, Mikasa, seemed just the tiniest bit… dangerous, for as quiet as she was. No matter how it displayed itself, one wondered whether “mello” was really an apt description for the instruments played by instrumentalists who would never be described as such. 

The low brass section was also split into two varieties: those who played baritone (who, when not playing, kept their arms pinned closely to their body to avoid any unnecessary lifting), and those who wished they did (who, when not playing, often sulked).

Sousaphones could only be identified by the distinctive tan lines left by the bell of their unfortunately large instrument, and the scowls left by being aware of said tan lines – as well as having to carry weight that accompanied earning them.

Finally, the color guard would arrive, dressed to the nines and somehow, miraculously, not covered in sweat, and they moved with the epitome of either grace, or sass, and it was next to impossible to tell the difference.

But no matter what they played, or how they staggered to the field, every single one of them wore the same expression: fixed, unbridled dread at the thought of the endless hours that stretched out before them beneath the summer sun. Because while the end result - the rush of the music taking flight, the edge of performance adrenaline in your blood, the thrill of a bellowing crowd on its feet for your exultation - was worth more than gold itself, getting there... was another story entirely.

This is that story.

 

*

 

Levi cast an approving look at the instrument cases, nudging a case into place every so often as he stalked down the line - a single-file row extending all the way down the end-zone. From piccolo to bari-sax, each player had their cases neatly closed, latches clasped, with the day's coordinate sheets stacked on top and water bottles - already glistening with condensation - placed precisely in front. 

The section leaders must have gotten to them first. It made sense - he'd led with most of them last year. Petra, Auruo, Gunter, and Eld had been named section leaders during Levi's first year as woodwind captain, and together they made, in Levi's opinion, one hell of a team. And here it was, day one of summer band, and they were already running like one.

Time to set the standards for the rest of the section.

“Alright woodwinds, listen up.”

The woodwind players filed in, clutching their instruments nervously as a chill edged through the crowd. There was something oddly terrifying about their short-statured senior captain – Levi Ackerman carried himself like a soldier and held his flute like a sword.

The look in his eyes could slice through someone ten times his size.

“Today is the first day of what will be the most miserable summer of your life.”

One of the freshmen dared a chuckle – which cut off with a choke as Levi silenced him with a frigid glare.

“If anyone has any problems with that, quit now or forever hold your keys, because if you think I’m going to hold your grimy little fingers through this battle, you are sorely mistaken. This summer, you will sweat for this band, you will bleed for this band – hell, if Erwin requires it, you will die for this band – and for the rest of our time here, you and I only have one goal in our wretched little band-geek hearts.”

When he was satisfied with his section’s attention, Levi scowled and spit the words like a curse.

“Crush the brasses.”

The air hissed with the clatter of woodwind instruments snapping to attention.

“Yes, Captain!”

Levi gave them a curt nod. “Dismissed.”

 

*

 

“Look at them,” Eren laughed, bumping Mikasa’s shoulder with his fist as he watched the woodwind players fall quietly into formation, instruments glittering in the morning sun. "It’s not even 7:30 and they’re already standing at set.”

Admittedly, he'd been a little unnerved by the sight of all those cases lined up single file, with the infamously short woodwind captain prowling along its length like a drill sergeant. “It’s like they’re in the freaking military or something," he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Mikasa looked up from her mellophone – which was polished to a shine – and eyed the silent band students doubtfully. “I don’t know, Eren…” she murmured, casting a glance back to the brass section lines. 

The entire brass section was, of course, in disarray. The three lead trombone players razzed each other teasingly as Marco dozed off among the marching baritone cases, with Sasha munching happily on her hash-browns at his side. On the far edge of the parking lot, the sousaphone section leader was dragging two massive cases, barely breaking a sweat despite the hoodie she insisted on wearing, and the rest of the trumpet section was up to something on the far end of the band truck.

And whatever it was, it was probably stupid.

“…Maybe Levi has the right idea.”

“Levi?” Eren snorted. “That the name of the woodwind captain?”

“You don’t know?” Armin asked, eyes wide. “It's his second year, Eren - did you listen to anything Dr. Zackly said during leadership camp?”

“Of course I did,” Eren snapped. 

But it was a lie, and they both knew it. Eren had been far too busy bickering with the trumpet section leader to pay any sort of attention to the nuances of what went on in the leadership clinics – like who he attended them with.

“Anyways, Short-stuff over there is just being excessive,” Eren griped, taking a swig from his water bottle and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “If he wants to fry his section like a half dozen eggs out there, he can be my guest.” 

He flipped his case open with a casual snap but lifted his trumpet from it carefully. Something about the instrument, though “coil of torture” it truly was, made his heart swell at the sight, the phantom sound shivering through his fingertips at the touch of warm brass. There was a trumpet solo in this year's show, a big one, and Eren was looking forward to it.

Even more so, he looked forward to wiping the grin off Jean’s smug face when he won it.

“I’m brass captain around here, and I’m not gonna suck up to some drum major just because he’s the director’s new golden-boy,” Eren declared, standing and closing his case with his toe. “Keith was plenty strict last year, but even he wasn’t bad enough to make all of us…”

The morning hush was cut with the sharp blast of an air-horn.

The call to set.

Eren paled.

“Well, well, brass players,” Erwin Smith called from the conductor’s podium, watching the chaos ensue as the brass players jumped to their feet and scrambled to arrive at their places. The smile on the drum major’s face was charming – the light in his eyes, anything but. “It looks to me as though all of you are late.”

“Late?” Eren scoffed, anger flickering along the edges of his voice. “How can we be late, it isn’t even –”

“Eren, shut it,” Mikasa hissed.

“Rehearsal starts at 7:30,” Erwin replied evenly, smoothly checking the stop-watch hanging round his neck. “And it is now… 7:31. That makes you, Eren Jaeger, as well as your entire section... late.”

_Shit._

From behind him, Eren heard a snicker.

“You wanna go – ?” Eren snapped, turning on his heel…

…Only to be stopped short by the mutely smug expression of the woodwind captain, whose gray eyes gleamed with mirth as he watched Eren simmer.

“The name you’re looking for,” Levi murmured, “is Ackerman. And if you’re making some sort of challenge, I’ll happily accept.”

“I’ll give you a challenge,” Eren grumbled, fist going tight around the neck of his trumpet.

“The penalty for arriving to rehearsal late,” Erwin called, eyeing the standoff with a decidedly calm expression, “is five laps around the marching field.”

Eren whirled. “But– !” 

“The next time it happens, it’s ten laps,” Erwin replied. “I suggest your section starts running, Eren. Wouldn’t want to be late again.”

They ran, every one of them, as the woodwinds ran through warm-ups and the air got steadily hotter. But what bothered Eren more than the fact that he was running – unfairly, mind you – or the fact that Jean and Reiner and Connie _and_ Ymir jabbed him in the arm as they passed, was the sound of Levi Ackerman snickering at him in his ear, the sound playing over and over in his head with every breathless step.

He heard it again, for real this time, as he jogged back to his set, now thoroughly winded and thoroughly drenched in sweat.

“What it’s to you, some sort of competition?” Eren hissed. He knew Levi could hear him.

“Actually, yes,” Levi replied.

_Jerk._

“Thank you, woodwinds, you can take a water-break!” Erwin announced from the podium. “Brasses, you’re up!”

As Levi jogged past Eren, Eren heard his whisper, loud and clear.

“And by the way..." 

"You’re already losing.”


	2. Sizzlin' like a Snare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *whistles* "Anything you can do I can do better ~ I can do anything better than you..."
> 
> Update! There is beautiful fanart for this chapter now :,) ~ Courtesy of the lovely [hanjinxed](http://hanjinxed.tumblr.com/), please enjoy [Jean in his favorite trumpet-section shirt](http://hanjinxed.tumblr.com/post/130765829830/i-couldnt-stop-laughing-about-jeans-shirt-in)! 
> 
> _He wore last year’s unofficial section shirt, a side-project the trumpets had decided to privately fund because the band director refused to endorse a shirt that read, ‘Now you’re just some trumpet that I used to blow.’_
> 
> Thank you so much for sharing this, I'm honestly in tears! :,D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more terminology...
> 
> Drum Major - The student conductor of a marching band. A prestigious position, often gained through a series of auditions, applications, and interviews, because they are the student leaders of the band, on and off the field. Can be from any section - usually 1 per 50 or so band students. In this AU, the band is large, but Erwin is the only drum major.
> 
> Captain - The student leader for the different 'sections': woodwind, brass, and percussion (in many cases, like in this one, battery and front ensemble/pit). The intermediaries between the drum major and the individual sections and players; can be selected from any instrument of each type.
> 
> Section Leader - The head of each instrument section; the top player (or often, best leader) of each individual instrument.

If Eren had expected to escape the morning’s fiasco unscathed, he was sorely mistaken. The whistle signaling lunch break had barely sounded before the brass section leaders pounced, filing in around him with storm clouds brewing on their faces.

“Yo, Jaeger, what was that?” Reiner grumbled.

“Yeah, Eren, what the hell happened out there?” Jean added, his scowl making an already long face – in Eren’s humble opinion – even longer. “Aren’t you supposed to be the one making sure we don’t have to run laps around this freaking field?”

“Instead of the one making us run?” For a brief moment, Eren almost considered arguing. But Annie was hard to argue with, especially since Eren knew she used sousaphones as weights in her morning workouts. And the way Reiner held his trombone, propped over his shoulder like a baseball bat, had Eren promptly reconsidering the snark in his tone. He’d never seen anyone taking a slide to the face, but everyone had heard stories...

In the end, common sense won out.

“Okay, okay, I messed up,” Eren spat, holding his sandwich defensively against his chest. He might consider taking Jean on one-on-one, but if this was going to be an argument, talking down Jean, Mikasa, Reiner, and Annie wouldn’t end well. 

“Messed up?” Annie asked, eyebrows rising. “Half the band had to run, and rehearsal hadn’t even started.”

Eren winced. “Alright, it was a little more than a mess up.”

Jean muttered something under his breath that sounded an awful lot like, “It was a disaster,” earning a sour look from Eren before the brass captain continued.

“Okay, but hear me out – this never would’ve happened if the freaking woodwind captain,” Eren replied, motioning off to the far end-zone with his sandwich as he spoke, “hadn’t gone all ‘ _Captain_ Levi’ on them and turned them into drones.”

“So what are you gonna do about it?” Jean grumbled, fixating Eren’s lunch with a hungry look in his eyes. In the chaos of a morning spent chasing down lost time, he’d only packed an apple. “I’m sure as hell not running any more laps because you got beaten by a dwarf.”

“I don’t know what his problem is!” Eren griped. “It’s like he’s made this into some sort of crazy competition.”

Jean sneered at that, the disbelief on his face painted almost as thick as the sunscreen on his nose. “Cut the crap, Jaeger. Why would he be wasting his time on something like that?”

“Hell if I know, but it’s what he said,” Eren replied, sending bits of lettuce flying as he gestured, sandwich still in hand. The bread looked like it couldn’t handle much more abuse. “It’s like he’s got it out for us, or something.”

The woodwind captain’s words echoed dimly in Eren’s ear. _And you’re already losing._ The memory pulled a scowl to his lips.

“You’re crazy,” Jean scoffed. From the looks on their faces, Annie and Reiner agreed.

“He isn’t,” Mikasa cut in, fixing Jean with a sharp look. “I heard Levi say it.”

“So... Levi’s crazy,” Jean promptly corrected, folding his arms and covering up the sweat-stain that had begun to bead across his chest. He wore last year’s unofficial section shirt, a side-project the trumpets had decided to privately fund because the band director refused to endorse a shirt that read, ‘Now you’re just some trumpet that I used to blow.’ 

“Is he though?” Annie asked. “For as strict as he’s supposedly being, the woodwinds looked good out there. Like, _really_ good.”

And they had. The woodwind section had been manic, running to every set, silent through every drill, adjusting at the slightest word from Levi. The brasses seemed almost, dare Eren think it, sloppy in comparison.

“If this keeps up,” the sousaphone captain continued with a scowl, “this won’t be the last time we end up running because of the woodwinds.”

The thought made Eren cringe.

“This is marching band, not the freaking army,” Jean grumbled. “If I wanted a drill sergeant, I’d go enlist.”

Eren snorted. “You wouldn’t survive three seconds in the army, Jean. Let’s be real here.”

“And neither would you, if your running says anything,” Jean cut back at him, poking Eren in the chest.

“Oh my gosh – give it a rest, Kirchstein!” Ymir shouted from the shade beneath the band truck. “I would literally pay you half my lunch if I didn’t have to hear your voice for the rest of the break.” 

“Shut up, Speckles!” Jean snapped. Eren snorted a laugh, gripping his sides. The sandwich hung limply in his hands.

“Did someone call me?” Marco piped up.

“Urgh,” Annie grumbled, stalking off to lay her sousaphone in the grass. “We’re a mess – we’re a freaking mess.”

Connie laughed at that. “Is anyone surprised?”

“We’re not a mess, we can still fix this!” Eren called after his friends as one by one, they left him. “Remember what we learned in leadership camp! Excellence is not a skill, but an attitude!”

The sandwich fell to the ground with a weak _‘plop.’_

 

*

 

While the layout of the football stadium had many flaws, the most unforgivable of them all, Levi fumed, was the one-way access route to the bathrooms. It was inescapable; as soon as one felt the urge, they only had one choice: climb the ramp all the way up the hillside, cross the food court and there, at the other end of the entrance plaza, lay salvation in the form of plastic stalls and sinks that only worked if you caught the motion sensor at _exactly the right angle._

There were no other options.

Which meant, no matter how hard he tried, Levi had a run-in with the front ensemble – who practiced in the entrance plaza, out of the sun and perfectly positioned to enjoy every breeze that whispered along the edges of this godforsaken heatwave – every time he had to wash his hands. 

And a run-in with the front ensemble eventually meant a run-in with…

“Hanji,” Levi snapped.

Hanji looked up – or rather, down – from where they hung by their knees from the upper bar of a haphazard contraption, to which a strange collection of percussion equipment was attached in a slapdash, Hanji-esque fashion.

“Oh, hello Levi,” they grinned. The sun caught the lens of their glasses, giving a manic light to their eyes. “Fancy seeing you here – is it lunch time already?”

“What the hell is going on?”

“What? This?” Hanji beamed. “This is Dwayne ‘The Rack’ Johnson – Levi, The Rack, The Rack, Levi,” they said, motioning between the contraption and the woodwind captain in vague gestures of introduction. “The Rack is where we hang all our strange and unusual percussion accessories, so we can –”

“As much as I fancy the idea of smacking you upside the head,” Levi cut in, “you are not a percussion instrument.”

“Ah, but I am strange and unusual,” Hanji replied.

“The strangest,” Levi agreed. “Now get down from there before you break your neck.”

“Can’t yet. Trying to see if The Rack is strong enough to hold the tam-tam.” They rattled the bar firmly to prove their point, making Levi flinch as the various chimes and cymbals rattled in protest. “Do you know what a tam-tam is, Levi? A tam-tam is like a gong, only gongs have,” they leaned in closely as their voice fell to a hush, _“nipples.”_

Levi groaned. “Hanji – _no.”_

“Hanji YES!” they sang, reaching up to catch the metal bar they hung from and swinging off in a practiced flip – they even stuck the landing.

“Speaking of things that make you uncomfortable,” Hanji continued, wiping their palms on their shorts and smirking as their friend grimaced at the sight. “A little birdie told me you got the entire brass section to run laps before rehearsal even started. Is this part of that plan you and Erwin were plotting during leadership camp, or…” the gleam in their eyes turned decidedly wicked, “did you just want to see someone run?”

Levi sneered. “Why on earth would I want to see Jaeger doing laps?” The brass sections had all been livid after the incident this morning – Levi wouldn’t be surprised if Eren didn’t survive the rehearsal. The memory of the look on the brass captain’s face still made Levi want to chuckle.

“I never said anything about Eren Jaeger,” Hanji replied with a wink. “But I saw those looks during leadership camp – tell me, Levi, do you have a thing for trumpet players?”

“Of course not,” Levi spat. “The world would be a better place if the trumpet had never been invented in the first place.”

“Trumpets, maybe – but not brass captains who happen to play trumpet, hmm?”

Levi swore he could feel a vein in his temple twitch. “Shut up, Hanji.”

“Don’t think I don’t see right through you, Levi,” Hanji cackled, turning to lift the heavy metal tam-tam as though it weighed nothing at all. “I know you want nothing more than to spend all night making sweet, _sweet_ music– ”

“Hanji, I said shut up!”

“Don’t try to fight it,” they snickered. The Rack groaned under the weight of the tam-tam, but held it without further complaint. “Flutes and trumpet players – it’s fate. Star-crossed. You’re doomed.”

“I think I’m gonna hurl,” Levi grumbled.

“Just wait!” Hanji cackled after him as he stalked down the hillside, “you’ll be wanting a piece of that fine brass-captain ass before long, Ackerman, and I’m gonna be the one who called it first!”

 

*

 

This time when the whistle sounded, the whole band was already at set.

“Brasses!” Erwin called from the podium. The drum major’s eyes were all but invisible beneath the brim of his pristine green cap, but each one of the brass players had to stifle a shiver as the cool gaze passed over them, inspecting each musician one by one. Eren didn’t realize he was holding his breath until his chest started to ache.

Erwin’s impassive expression broke into a grin. “Nice to see you here on time – keep up the good work.”

It took all of Eren’s hard-earned maturity to not whip around and stick his tongue out at Levi – though it was a close call. As it was, Eren could almost feel the woodwind captain’s glare drilling a hole through the back of his head.

 _Good,_ Eren smirked. _Let him be mad – if you want a competition, Short-stuff, you can have one. You won’t win if I can help it._

The muggy air was cut with the sound of a megaphone screeching to life from the observation tower.

“Alright, band,” Director Zackly called, his voice tinny and harsh in the megaphone’s drone. “Today, we’ll begin working on marching technique – the fundamentals that form the very core of what we do here.”

Eren’s smirk quickly slipped from his face. Behind him, he heard Jean barely stifle a groan.

“In order to succeed as a marching band, everything we do comes down two things…”

“Uniformity,” Connie snickered quietly.

“And technique,” Sasha finished, echoing the words they’d all heard spoken what felt like a thousand times before.

“The goal of marching band,” Director Zackly continued, oblivious to the suffering of the musicians far below him, “is to create an impenetrable wall of excellence, both in our music, and in our marching fundamentals. And as the great Aristotle once said…”

“We are what we repeatedly do,” Jean intoned with mock solemnity, causing a giggle to ripple quietly through the brass section.

“Excellence, then, is not an act,” Marco added.

“But a habit,” Eren finished, a grin stretching wide across his face, laughter shaking quietly down his shoulders.

“Something funny, Jaeger?” Levi muttered.

Eren froze.

“That’s what I thought.” 

“Captains!” the director called, over the megaphone, making Eren jump. “To the front please!”

Levi sauntered forward. In the unforgiving sunlight, his flute gleamed dangerously, like the blade of a sword in his slender fingers. Eren followed the other captain with a scowl, striking up a quick jog to catch up and pull ahead. As they approached the front yard-line and turned to face the band, Eren caught the tail end of what might’ve been a quiet, _“brat.”_

Eren’s retort was cut off by the crackle of the megaphone.

“These fine young men are your captains this year,” Dr. Zackly announced, the echoes of the words mixing with the static of the megaphone in the afternoon heat. “They are your examples – your role models, if you will.”

Eren didn’t have to look to know Jean was barely containing howls of laughter.

“As such, they will each demonstrate the different kinds of marching you will be expected to perform as a part of this band. There is the forward march – sixteen counts, Eren, if you would?”

Four taps from the snare drum was all the cue Eren needed to snap to attention and step forward on the beat, the movements made automatic, unconscious, by so many marching seasons. It was natural to him – to step forward with his head held high, his carriage strong, his trumpet angled to play for imaginary stands full of roaring crowds. Sixteen steps later, he stepped into the close and stood still, letting the rap of the snare fall quiet.

“Thank you, Eren. Levi, sixteen counts, backwards march.”

Normally, Eren would be expected to stand in place, not moving. Normally, set could only be broken by the director’s command. But Eren turned to watch.

And Levi did not disappoint.

As the snare taps kept the time, the woodwind captain’s every movement was intentional and defined, as sharp and crisp as the winter wind. Though Eren searched, he couldn’t find a single flaw.

 _This competition thing might be tougher than I thought_ , Eren realized, watching Levi prep and close with expert precision.

Then he shook himself for even thinking it.

“Well done,” Dr. Zackly commended. “Now the full extent of marching technique can be displayed through a particular drill. Can any of the upperclassmen remember the name?”

Armin’s hand shot in the air. “Cadet’s drill!” he answered quickly, as soon as Erwin gave him a nod.

“Good, Arlert. Yes, the Cadet’s drill.”

Eren felt a prickle on the back of his neck as a charge slipped through the sultry air.

“Captains!” Dr. Zackly called. “The two of you will demonstrate the Cadet’s drill for us, to show the band how it’s done. We’ll work on the drill for the rest of rehearsal.”

Levi was watching him intently, a smirk playing on the edges of his lips.

“Don’t mess up,” the woodwind captain whispered as they stepped up to the yard-line.

“Same to you,” Eren hissed.

Snare taps snapped through the air like gunshots.

Tension shimmered between the two captains like heat rising off the scorching turf, their moves razor-sharp and agonizingly precise as they paced across the field. Forwards, pivot, backwards, pivot, and forwards again. All the way down the field – every eye upon them. 

Every step a blow exchanged, with neither losing ground.

 _Damn you, Jaeger,_ Levi griped, knowing without seeing that the trumpet player was matching him step for step. Knowing that if he failed, the brass captain would never let Levi live it down.

If anything, the thought only made Levi try harder.

When the pair made it to the other side and settled into the close, the field broke into a roaring applause.

“Nicely done, captains!” Dr. Zackly called down the field as the band fell quiet once again under the drum major’s cool stare.

“Not bad, Jaeger,” Levi murmured quietly as they returned to their spots.

Eren almost tripped.

“Excuse me?”

Levi didn’t reply until he arrived at his place, where he settled into set and held his chin high. Somehow Levi still managed to make Eren feel as though the shorter captain was looking down his nose at him, despite his height.

“I said, not bad,” Levi repeated as Eren took his place in front of him. “...For a trumpet.”

Eren whirled. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded furiously, fingers wrapping tightly around the neck of his trumpet as he turned on the flute player.

A whistle sounded off sharply from the podium.

“Trumpets! Take a lap!” Erwin yelled, watching Eren yank back around in alarm, eyes wide. “No talking on the field!”

Eren’s stomach dropped.

 _“Eren!”_ Jean groaned.

“Shut up,” Eren snapped, setting his trumpet on the ground gently.

He could feel Levi’s smirk follow him all the way around the field.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh. These dorks. Also, Hanji is my favorite person of all time.
> 
> PSA: Do not hang from The Rack. He may seem strong, but it's photoshop, I promise.
> 
> Hope you liked the new chapter! Let me know what you think in the comments ~ I love hearing from all my fellow band people, and from everyone who's enjoying the AU so far. :)
> 
> Next time: some trumpet soul-searching, mysteriously beautiful music, and running as if one's life depended on it.


	3. Music of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You're obnoxious and I kind of hate you but holy cheese-whiz you're good at what you do."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Note on Rehearsals: While marching band frequently creates an environment of internal competition, no individual rivalry could ever match some of the district and state-wide rivalries held between some marching bands. To regulate this, a national scholastic board was established to maintain a set of practice regulations to keep bands from overworking in order to out-prepare other bands for the competition season. These regulations often limited rehearsal to a maximum of 10 hours a week outside of practice, with special rules regarding performance days and what not.
> 
> All of these rules went out the window for summer band, however, and where I lived, it wasn't uncommon for bands to hold eight, ten, or even twelve hour practices _per. day._ My director preferred eight hour days, with four hours of marching and four hours of indoor rehearsal, but for the sake of the fic, the Sina Marching Band will maintain the 12 hour days reminiscent of some of the other high school bands we competed against. For the sake of clarity, the Sina Marching Band learns the marching show for four hours on a football field, practices their beloved marching technique/fundamentals for four hours in a gymnasium (more on why this is important when we get to competitions), and four hours of music rehearsal.
> 
> Add two hour-long breaks to that, and you've got yourself a 7AM to 9PM hell.
> 
> This has been a PSA, brought to you by your emotionally-scarred author.
> 
> ALSO ~ There is a link to a song that is relevant to the chapter embedded in the text. When you get to it, if you open it in a new tab, you can listen to the same song Eren hears. You should do the thing. I would not lead you wrong on bad flute music.

The days flew by quickly, running together as all dog-days of summer do. For Eren, Tuesday and Wednesday passed in a heated haze of constant motion, the scent of sunscreen and the salty tang of sweat, and the lingering echo of the metronome’s pulse, which haunted his waking hours and bled into his dreams.

This time, however, the beat of the metronome was his reality as well, following Eren indoors when Thursday’s marching practice wrapped up, and as the evening music rehearsal dragged on, it was starting to give him a headache.

Or maybe that was just Jean.

“Jean,” Eren hissed under his breath, looking away from his music to watch Jean continue to fidget, holding his trumpet up to his ear and rolling it from side to side. Jean’s sunburned face scrunched in concentration as he listened hard.

“Jean! What the heck are you doing?”

Jean stopped immediately, peering over his trumpet to shoot a glare at Eren before returning to his ministrations. “What do you want, Jaeger,” Jean grumbled, loosening a valve before giving the trumpet another shake. “I’m listening for my trumpet’s soul.”

It was all Eren could do to stifle his groan. Definitely a Jean-headache. “Don’t be stupid,” he replied. “Trumpets don’t have souls.”

“Well mine does!” Jean snapped. “I can hear it rattling around in there, here, listen!”

Jean held the instrument to Eren’s ear and gave it a quick jolt, and sure enough, Eren could hear something jingling from somewhere inside the instrument – that is, until Jean decided to give him a sharp smack on the ear as well.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“Doubting the existence of my trumpet’s soul, you heathen,” Jean hissed.

“That’s not a soul, _idiot_ ,” Eren replied, lowering his trumpet and turning to really let Jean have it. “That’s just a loose screw – something you have plenty of, I might add.”

“Then show me where the screw is!” Jean demanded, plucking the offending valve from his trumpet and waving it in front of Eren’s face. “See? No screw to be found!”

“That doesn’t mean your trumpet has a soul.”

“Of course it does,” Jean snapped, replacing the valve and cradling the instrument to his chest. “It has a name, it has a soul. End of story.”

“Your trumpet has a _name?”_

Now that gave Jean pause. The answer was yes, his trumpet _did_ have a name. He and his trumpet had been through a lot over the years; of course it had a name. And he rather liked the name too – it was even better than the name he had chosen for his drum set.

(The name of the drum set, if you must know, was Eren – what better name for something he wanted to hit all the time?)

But the question that would inevitably follow, as soon as a pause in the music allowed, was, ‘well, what did you name it?’ 

…and the fact that he liked to call his trumpet ‘Mikasa’ wasn’t something Jean had ever planned on admitting.

Especially to Eren.

“Psst, Jean!” Marco whispered around the mouthpiece of his euphonium. “The director is looking at you!”

Jean, caught in the midst of his crisis, didn’t hear him – he was too busy staring off into space, his trumpet laying forgotten in his lap as he frantically scrambled for a name that wouldn’t wind up getting him killed.

“Jean!” Marco hissed, jabbing a finger into Jean’s ribs.

The sudden touch made Jean jolt, almost sending his trumpet to the ground. _“Marco!”_ Jean squawked.

Director Zackly levelled a glare in his direction as the music faltered.

“Dude,” Eren breathed, his eyes wide. “You named your trumpet ‘Marco’?”

“Eren, don’t even go there,” Jean muttered. 

“…that’s so gay.”

“Shut up!”

But Eren would not be swayed.

“Like, why would you name something you blow all day after _Marco?_ ” he asked, sinking his head into his hands, all thoughts of music quickly vanishing as he struggled to grasp the enormity of his revelation.

And then his head shot up and he fixed Jean with a mischievous grin, eyebrows waggling. “Unless…?”

“Shut up, Jaeger, don’t make this gay.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not the one who made this gay,” Eren replied smugly. “At least I’m comfortable with it, unlike _some_ body…”

“I said, shut _up!_ ”

“Jaeger! Kirchstein!” 

It was only then that the pair realized that the music had stopped.

“Is there something you’d like to share with the band?” Directly Zackly called from the podium, his thin baton looking more and more like a weapon with every passing moment. 

“Yeah, Jean,” Eren added, grinning wider. “We’ll all support you – we’re all ears.”

Jean paled. “Not at all, sir!” he choked.

Eren yelped his agreement seconds later as Jean aimed a sharp kick at his shins from under the seat.

Dr. Zackly eyed the two boys sternly. “I can understand if you are disappointed by the lack of fanfare in Dr. Horner’s opening theme,” he began dryly, letting the threat in his tone send a chill through the room. “But surely even you two fine gentlemen can appreciate the music of ‘Titanic.’”

A snicker whispered across the band-set, drawing a faint flush to Eren’s cheeks.

“And if not, starting next week, we’ll be starting the ballad in section rehearsals, and as I’m sure you two are aware, the trumpet solo in the ballad will be the feature of the show. It’d be a shame if something were to… _prevent_ you two from auditioning.”

Jean and Eren swallowed nervously.

“For now, however,” Dr. Zackly continued, “you can play the trumpet solo as a section to prepare for the audition. But keep in mind: if I don’t believe we have a suitable trumpet soloist, I’m not opposed to rewriting the solo for a different part. It’d certainly make a good mellophone solo…”

Mikasa and Armin both perked up noticeably.

“Or, dare I say it,” Dr. Zackly mused, “a flute solo.”

Eren scowled at the suggestion. “That’s alright, sir,” he quickly replied. He couldn't see Levi from here, but he could already imagine the smug little sneer playing across his face. “We’ll make sure that won’t be necessary.”

“See that it isn’t.”

The music rehearsal ran smoothly after that, all thoughts of trumpet-souls drowning in the wake of the director’s lingering threat, and by the time it ended, Eren found even his headache was gone. Sometime between his section’s shenanigans and the final run-through of the day, he’d lost himself in the music, in the rich, warm tone that he spun from the bell of his horn, and forgotten all about it.

It was one of the things he liked best about music. Something about bringing his trumpet to his lips and pulling gold out of thin air made it so easy to escape into the sound, to leave everything else behind and become, for a moment, something other than himself. Something simpler, purer, and so, so much bigger – and sometimes, even something greater.

And when he was ready, he could return, if not better, at least better prepared to face whatever it was that drove him to music in the first place. It wasn’t healing, per se, but… 

Freeing.

And Eren needed that freedom like the air he breathed.

The end-of-rehearsal flurry soon slowed to a trickle as the other musicians scurried around the band-hall, putting away their instruments, gathering their belongings, and heading home for the night. As the hall emptied, Eren stayed where he was, taking his time to rearrange his music in his folder, to wipe his trumpet down and case it, content to linger for a little while longer. Despite the quiet, Eren liked the band hall at night. It was surprisingly peaceful, for a place that always seemed to hum with a chaotic melody of life and sound. Sometimes the chaos was hard to ignore, but during evenings like this, it was easy for Eren to sink into the hush that hugged the corners of the rooms, clung to gilded gleam of the trophies on the walls. With his third marching season well underway, it was familiar to him, as familiar as his own reflection.

It was home. He knew the names on all the nametags he straightened on the lockers he passed, knew who sat in every chair he put away as he dissembled the band set-up for the night. Though the hall was silent, he could still hear the echo of the laughter and the music ringing softly in his ears.

…or could he?

Eren paused, listening hard. He _did_ hear music: the [sound of a flute](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aw53VrbI4l0) was faint but unmistakable, carried on a whisper from some distant corner of the school.

_But who was playing?_

“Eren, are you coming?” Mikasa called from the main hall, snapping him from his thoughts.

“Yeah!” Eren replied, momentarily torn. Deciding. “…I’ll just be a minute!”

And then he was off, unable to resist uncovering the source of the sound.

Silence enveloped Eren as soon as he got beyond the fine-arts wing, leaving behind the light and the cool evening air for the abandoned halls of Sina High. Empty after a summer of disuse, the windows of the classrooms were eerily dark and the faces of the lockers that lined the halls were coated with a thin layer of dust. The air felt stagnant and warm on his skin, and as Eren wandered the building, the only sound he could hear was the muted tap of his footsteps and the thin tide of his breathing. 

That, and the sound of the flute weaving its way through the empty passageways as the setting sun painted burning colors across the sky outside, and then went out all at once, leaving Eren in the dark. He didn’t care. The flute’s voice hung low and rich as it carved a melody from the silence, haunting and sincere, drawing Eren forward.

Eren had never heard anything like it, never heard anyone play like that before. He’d never really paid the instrument much attention – he always ignored them.

But now he found he couldn’t pull himself away. This was different. This was a siren’s song, stirring at the edges of Eren’s dizzied thoughts as he followed the sound, this was racing through the darkened woods, chased by fever-dreams and wandering fantasies, this was nothing short of magical, and the flutist…

…was Levi.

Eren felt his breath catch.

Levi stood in the corner, at the bottom of the stairs. He played gently, coaxing the melody from his flute with a tender, graceful touch, the notes now dark and soft and aching, somehow, yet the song was… 

_“Beautiful.”_

The music cut off with a sharp hiss.

“Who’s there?”

Eren swore he felt his heart stop.

“Who are you?”

He wasn’t about to stick around for Levi to find out. Moments from being discovered, Eren did the only logical thing he could think of.

He ran, ran with his heart in his throat, the pounding of his pulse mixing with the beat of the flute-player’s quick footsteps, always just behind him. What would Levi say, Eren wondered, if he found it had been Eren listening at the stair, caught like a child in the piper’s snare?

He didn’t want to find out.

Down the stairs, across the cafeteria, through the band hall’s double doors. Blood racing furiously, Eren tore through the back doors in a breathless sprint and launched himself into the passenger seat of the car where Mikasa was waiting.

“Eren, where – what did you do?”

“Nothing!” Eren yelped, a little too loud and a little too quickly. “But wow, look at the time, we really should be getting home soon, so drive!”

Mercifully, Mikasa had the sense not to pry. With a sputter and a whine, their old-but-gold Ford Expedition rumbled to life, and Mikasa fish-tailed out of the empty parking lot as the tires squealed their protest.

By the time Levi burst through the band hall doors, all he found was an empty lot and the quiet night sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That awkward moment when you accidentally acknowledge the skill of your sworn enemy...
> 
> The flute solo in the link that you _definitely should have pressed_ is 'Syrinx' by Debussy, performed by Emmanuel Pahud.
> 
> Hope you liked the new chapter! Let me know what you think in the comments ~ I love hearing from all my fellow band people, and from all those who have been enjoying the AU. :)
> 
> Next time: an act of war, some bitter competition, and some trumpets plotting to reclaim their honor (if you listen carefully, you can hear a certain fire-bender yelling angrily in the distance).


	4. The Spirit of Karma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Someone fetch a fire-extinguisher, I think we blew his mind._
> 
>  
> 
> Thirst really can be distracting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha, so for all my searching, I was unable to find a trumpet cover for the song I wanted for the solo in the ballad. However, I found a beautiful rendition of the song on piano, so I've attached that to the section where the trumpet solo comes in. If you open the link in a new tab, you'll be able to hear the music as it "happens" in the writing, and hopefully I can use these word-things to get my point across. Enjoy!

In summer band, Fridays were spirit days, and spirit days were upheld as mandatory by unspoken rule. It didn’t matter if you had spirit. It didn’t matter if you hated the theme. On Friday morning, you got up and you wore what your captain commanded, whether you wanted to or not.

Picking a spirit day theme, however, took a certain kind of talent that Eren sorely lacked. By Tuesday night – had to give the enthusiasts time to prepare, after all – Eren had already run fifteen themes by the brass leadership, and all fifteen of them, from aliens to decades day, had been unequivocally shot down. In the end, they had settled for “Dress Like Director Zackly,” but the idea had not been well-received. White dress shirts and suspenders would make for a miserable afternoon of marching.

And who the hell wore bolo ties in this century anyways?

He knew Levi would have something up his sleeves though, and as Eren got ready for band on Friday morning, he found himself wishing he could travel back in time and change the theme to something different. Eren could already feel the sizzle of Levi’s sneer burning hotly around his ears as he buttoned up the old dress shirt (his father wouldn’t miss it) and the tied the makeshift bolo tie (a bead, some red paint, and an old shoelace) around his neck. 

So when the flute section started wandering past the band truck in twos and threes, dressed in athletic shorts and t-shirts with the sleeves cut off, Eren felt a little puzzled. Sure, it was strange attire for the flute section, perhaps, but as a whole, the ensemble appeared relatively… normal.

The clarinets and the saxophones had committed themselves a little more firmly to the theme, augmenting the look with bright pairs of plastic sunglasses and the occasional ball-cap, worn backwards.

“Ha!” Jean sniggered, sauntering up to Eren’s side with a smirk spread wide across his face. His white t-shirt hung a little too crisply on his shoulders, ‘suspenders’ hastily scribbled on in black sharpie. Eren stifled a groan. “You can’t even tell what their theme is - they look so weird!”

“I suppose that means they succeeded, then,” someone said coolly from behind them. Neither Eren nor Jean had heard his approach – they jumped in unison.

Levi.

Levi, in black basketball shorts that hung below his knees; Levi, wearing a faded shirt with arm holes cut so low Eren caught a glimpse of the pale skin of his abs – and _damn_ was he cut.

Levi, peering slyly over a pair of faux gold-rimmed aviators, eyed Jean with a satisfied smirk.

“I told them to dress like the trumpet section for Spirit Day,” Levi said, very obviously enjoying the look of shock sprawled across Jean’s face. “But it’s not my fault they all decided to dress like you.”

 

*

 

The weekend did nothing to take the edge off Jean’s temper. With the memory of the insult still fresh on his Monday-morning-addled mind, the sight of the woodwind players still left Jean seething.

And with half the band marching around with woodwind instruments, that was a hell of a lot of seething. By the end of warm-ups, Eren found himself thoroughly – though grudgingly, always grudgingly – impressed.

“How are you doing it?” Eren asked during their water break, watching in awe as Jean shot a vicious glower at a pair of giggling freshman sauntering by, clarinets in hand. They nearly jumped when they noticed him, and quickly scampered away.

“Doing what?” Jean snapped. 

_‘The impossible,’_ Eren almost replied. If he tried maintaining an embouchure around a scowl like that, he wouldn’t be able to play for more than five minutes. The day he learned to fuel his trumpet playing with his rage would be the day he’d become unstoppable. “I don’t get it,” Eren said, shaking his head as he adjusted the ice-towel hanging from his neck. “How are you still making a sound while scowling at the world like that?”

The glare Jean levelled at Eren could’ve lowered the ambient temperature by a good ten degrees. When he finished with his water, he plucked his trumpet from his case and closed the lid with an angry _‘crack!’_

“Spite.”

Erwin blew the whistle before Eren could ask whether Jean was kidding.

“Alright band,” Dr. Zackly called, his voice crackling in the megaphone’s static, “let’s take this from the top – one more run-through and we’ll break for lunch and section rehearsals!”

The band bellowed their approval as they ran to the opening set.* Once Erwin saw everyone settled into their spots, the rise of his baton called everyone to attention.

_“One. Three. Five, six, dut-dut-dut-dut!”_

All at once, the band burst into motion, the field suddenly lost beneath a churning sea of color and sound as the music rose in tides. Musicians moved in every direction, from front and back and side to side, each painstaking step a tiny change in a much greater design. From far above, the swirling chaos made patterns and shapes, like constellations formed from shifting stars.

“Front ensemble, you’re rushing!” Dr. Zackly cried from the tower. “Mellophones, keep up! Posture! Posture!”

It was like trying to shore up a sandcastle against the pull of the rolling waves – seemingly impossible, and yet…

“Great work, band!” Dr. Zackly crowed, his applause cutting through the ring of the final chord. “As of now, you’ve put the opener and the first movement of the show on the field!”

The band let out a cheer.

“Therefore, on Wednesday, we will begin learning the drill for the ballad. You all should have begun working on the music in section rehearsals by now…” Dr. Zackly paused for a moment, shuffling through his notes for something, “ah, here we go… Soloists! Congratulations, Mr. Ackerman, for winning the solo at the introduction of the ballad!”

Behind him, Eren heard Jean groan over the applause that scatter through the band-set.

“Trumpets!” Dr. Zackly called. “Expect auditions for your solo be held here on the field on Friday!”

On the field. Friday. Anticipation shivered down Eren’s spine.

 _Great,_ he thought to himself, feeling a grin pull at the corners of his lips as the music started trembling through his fingers. _I can do Friday._

 

*

 

If he even survived until Friday.

“We have to get back at them somehow,” Jean grumbled under his breath, flipping back through his music with a ferocity that threatened to tear the pages. “We have to.”

Eren ground his forehead with his palm. This was how it would end – if the complaining didn't stop, Jean would wind up killing him. 

“Oh, give it a rest, Jean,” Mikasa muttered.

It had been fairly amusing on Friday, and only somewhat less so on Monday, but by Wednesday, all patience for Jean’s wounded pride had worn dangerously thin. It almost made Eren wish he could handcuff Jean to Levi, to let the flute player deal with the monster he had created, but there was something about Levi that made Eren think twice.

That flute of his looked too much like a weapon for Eren’s liking.

Vaguely threatening-looking instruments aside, Eren knew the fastest way to put an end to Jean’s griping and get back at Levi would be to come up with a way to utterly crush the woodwind section on the upcoming spirit day. Something that would leave them so thoroughly outclassed - or just plain shocked - that they’d never try messing with the brass section again, even if it was just to keep Jean from making everyone want to rip their hair out.

…Now if he could just come up with a theme.

At the front of the section, the assistant band director looked up from her music score and paused, studying Jean with a frown. “Hey, Jean, you’re looking kinda down there,” she said “Is anything wrong?”

The brass section looked up in horror.

It was a rookie mistake, but then, Ms. Rheinberger – or Anka, as she’d told the brass section to call her on the first day of camp – was still very new, hired at the end of the spring semester to fill the position after Mr. Pixis, the previous assistant director, left to pursue “his only love.”

What that had to do with keeping grape vineyards in the heart of the Italian countryside, Eren could only guess. 

But why, why ask Jean _that_ of all things? Eren could already feel the headache starting to blossom at the base of his skull.

The unexpected sympathy caught Jean so off-guard, his train of thought derailed instantly. “Wrong?” he spluttered, before correcting himself and adding, “I mean. Wrong, yeah. There is. There’s definitely something wrong.”

Armin barely managed to stifle his groan.

“I thought so,” Anka nodded solemnly, ignoring the terror etched into the faces of the other members of the brass section. “You look troubled.”

“It was a troubling event!” Jean said, clapping a hand to his chest. Eren could see him slipping into his element, readying himself to relive the agony of the injustice that had been committed against him.

Eren never really knew why Jean was in band. He really should’ve considered theatre.

“It sounds like it,” Anka agreed. “Would you like to take a quick walk to help get your mind off things? Get some water maybe? You really wouldn’t want your thirst to take the edge off your concentration, you know. It’s hard enough to focus when you’re working through things.”

Jean looked like Anka had just offered him a blanket and a puppy and a warm mug of hot chocolate.

“You know?” he asked, glowing with appreciation, “I’d like that. You’re right, thirst really can be distracting, I think I’ll do that.” He seemed so moved as he rose from his seat, he almost looked like he was floating as he left the rehearsal room. The door swung shut quietly behind him.

“Okay,” Anka said, standing as soon as Jean was out of earshot. “Everybody out.”

“What?” Connie asked.

A small smile ghosted across Anka’s face. “As much as I’d hate to admit it, this rehearsal doesn’t seem like it’s gonna go anywhere if you guys keep trying not to strangle Jean. Go practice individually – we’ll see how things go tomorrow.”

The brasses looked at each other wordlessly as the assistant director’s request sank in.

“Pranking Jean?” Marco asked curiously.

“I’m all about that,” Ymir cackled, rising from her seat and grabbing her music, inspiring others to do the same. "Thanks, Ms. Anka, you're the greatest!"

"Yeah!" the brass players echoed in overwhelming approval.

Eren had never seen his section move so fast. In less than a minute, the rehearsal room was a ghost-town, all signs of the brass musicians gone without a trace. He allowed himself a small chuckle as he slipped out the room last, looking for an empty practice room so he could continue preparing for the solo audition.

Eren very quickly decided that, rookie or no, he liked the new assistant director very much.

Moments later, the rehearsal room door swung open and Jean walked in, wiping the water from his lips with a satisfied sigh and feeling more refreshed and at peace than he had in a long while.

So the sight of the empty room caught him more than a little by surprise.

“Hey…” he said, looking around. “Where’d everybody go?”

The room was silent.

“…was it something I said?”

 

*

 

Thursday’s lunch found Eren in a practice room, shaping and reshaping the tone of his sound, his sheet music with the trumpet solo resting on a stand in front of him. His sandwich lay on the ground next to his lunch box, both completely untouched.

He almost jumped when Jean barged in.

“That was the solo you were just playing,” Jean said coolly, letting the door click shut behind him. It wasn’t what he came in here to say – the expression melting from his face had made it pretty clear that he'd had something he wanted to share with Eren – but was out there now, and Jean was going to roll with it.

“Excellent observation,” Eren muttered. “What do you want, Jean?”

“You’re auditioning tomorrow?”

“Well, yeah,” Eren replied, frowning. “It’s a _trumpet_ solo and I’m a _trumpet_ player. Of course I’m auditioning.”

“But you’ll have to play with Short-stuff!” 

Eren lowered his trumpet. “So?”

 _“‘So?’”_ Jean echoed. “What do you mean, ‘so’? You can’t even stand the guy!”

“Who cares if I like Levi or not?” Eren replied. “He’s a really good player, and it’d be cool to play with him. I don’t care if I can’t stand him – I want that solo.”

“Well you’ll have to beat me first!” 

“Fine,” Eren scoffed.

Clearly expecting support and finding none, Jean scowled darkly. “Traitor,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.

“Traitor?” Eren demanded. “Why are you calling me a traitor?”

“For fraternizing with the enemy,” Jean retorted.

If it had been any other time, Eren might actually have risen to the bait. He could already taste the words on his tongue. But lunch would be over in half an hour, and he had a solo audition to practice for. “Okay, Jean,” he said instead, working to keep his voice in check. “What did you really come in here for.”

Whatever response Jean had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “Oh. Um...” he sputtered for a moment, trying his best to recollect his thoughts. “I was talking to Ms. Anka yesterday, and she had an interesting idea for Spirit Day, and I liked it, so I thought I’d run it by you.”

“Really? What’d you two come up with?”

Erwin nearly had a heart-attack as his walk past the practice rooms was soundly interrupted by an ecstatic, _“Jean, that’s BRILLIANT!”_

_“I know, right!”_

_“We have to tell the others about this!”_

_“Waaay ahead of you. The beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!”_

_“And Rohan will answer! Muster the Rohirrim! Assemble the army!”_

When he recovered, Erwin smiled.

Tomorrow’s rehearsal would be an interesting one.

 

*

 

Friday morning, as the woodwinds began to wander past the equipment truck in twos and threes, they heard a shout. 

“Hey, Levi!”

Levi stopped immediately, his arms folding across his chest as Jean sauntered out from around the band truck and made his way towards the flute player.

He was quickly followed by several other brass players – Marco and Sasha and some of the baritones, Connie and a few members of the trombone section, and even a few trumpet players – who also wandered around from the other side of the large trailer, which had begun to rumble somewhat ominously.

The woodwind players couldn’t bring themselves to focus on that for too long, however. Each and every one of them were more than a little distracted by what the brasses were wearing…

And they all wore the same thing.

“Are those…?” Petra whispered, eyeing the brasses in shock.

“Snow pants.” Levi sneered. All of brass players were wearing them, the pants ranging from simple waterproof affairs to full, down-stuffed ski-gear, complete with winter boots. “What’s this supposed to be?” Levi scoffed. “Are you trying to compete to see who can get heatstroke the quickest?”

“It’s the theme for our spirit day,” Jean replied, a smug grin lighting along the corners of his lips. The rumbling inside the truck grew louder. “Check it out.”

The morning peace was shattered by the deafening _bang!_ of the doors of the truck flying open and crashing against the sides as the rest of the brass section burst forth, whooping and hollering.

Levi’s jaw dropped.

The brass section was an utter mess. Many of them had followed Jean’s lead, flouting the heat index to match tank tops on top of heavy winter-wear. The woodwinds stared in wordless confusion as the “zip-zop” of ski-pants and the clip of bulky snow boots filled the air. 

Those who weren’t wearing winter pants, however, were wearing literally anything but. 

Annie looked alarming, wearing her sousaphone and a ballerina tutu in a shade of pink so horrendous Levi wondered how he hadn’t gone blind on the spot – and he quickly wished he had once Bert and Reiner sauntered past, wearing thick hula skirts and gaudy plastic leis and what appeared to be… little else. 

The mello section had taken a different approach, with half the section trotting after Mikasa wearing luridly colored bedsheets tied around their waists like togas while the other half raced after a screeching Armin, who barreled out of the band truck in a dead sprint wearing knee-high stockings and a tartan kilt. A few brass players wore jumpers. Some wore long skirts. One particularly ambitious tuba player wore a full length ball gown, complete with sneakers and a tiara.

The brasses appeared to have, simultaneously, lost their minds.

Finally, just when Levi thought the truck was empty, just when he thought he could take no more... out walked Eren, strutting down the ramp wearing nothing but a swimmer’s racing suit, the fabric clinging tightly to his hips. He turned to give Jean a loud high-five, giving the flute section a better view of what nylon and lycra could do to all the muscles toned by three seasons of marching.

And damn it all, Levi couldn’t bring himself to look away, not even when Eren turned back to find him staring, open-mouthed, all words drying up beneath the scorch of the morning sun.

“Snow-pants or no pants,” Eren shrugged, grinning wickedly. “Happy Spirit Day, Levi.”

And before Levi could even consider grasping for a snarky response, Eren was off, cupping his hands around his mouth to shout, “Brasses, get to the field! Rehearsal starts in ten!”

 

*

 

“Thank you for your spirit, brasses… whatever it may be,” Dr. Zackly called from the tower, eyeing the brass section with an expression torn between confusion and mirth. Eren, at least, had had the sense to throw a t-shirt and swim-trunks over his racing suit, but the rest of the brasses were still fully bedecked in their spirit-wear, and only the threat of impending heat stroke would make them take it off.

Levi doubted even that would stop them.

Dr. Zackly flipped his notebook open and studied the day’s agenda for a moment before continuing. “Alright. Before we start learning new drill, I believe we have some unfinished business to attend to… trumpets!”

The entire section snapped to attention, signaling that they had heard.

“Your auditions today will be held on the field. Because brass solos don’t require any microphones, part of the criteria for the solo will be projection. As such, the entire band will march through the ballad, and when we get to the beginning of the solo, one trumpet player will play from where they are standing, and we will do this for every trumpet player who wants to audition. Might as well get some practice in while we’re at it. Any questions?”

Levi cast a quick glance across the trumpet section out of the corner of his eye. There were none.

“Fantastic. Opening set!”

_“One. Three. Five, six, dut-dut-dut-dut!”_

The call was familiar to Levi, as were the steps he took, each one sure and precise as he traced patterns across the field, awash in the chords that swelled up around him and swept along the band in tides. It wasn’t that point in the season yet, but he’d soon be reaching the point where he would have taken these steps – the opener of the show – a thousand times.

 _How good would they be as a band when they finally achieved that?_ he wondered as he approached the front sideline and came to a neat halt. At the drum major’s cue, the music lulled, and Levi brought his flute to his lips.

The introduction to the ballad was a simple one, one of the less-technically challenging solos Levi had performed, but he loved it nonetheless, loved it for that gentle ache and the yearning behind the melody that made his heart twinge in his chest. Loved it until the last note lingered quietly in the stillness…

…and loved it even more so for [the trumpet note](https://youtu.be/ObV4YcGkcQ8?t=56) that followed. 

The air itself was lit with sound, warmed by a melody that had been coaxed to life from molten gold. It took all Levi had to not turn on the spot and stare, yet at the same time, Levi knew he couldn’t move even if he tried. The soloist had him rooted there, unable to do anything but play along, weaving a silvery counterpoint to the melody that had him spellbound.

Levi didn’t think he could fall in love so fast – and he didn’t even know who was playing. Didn’t even know if he would care.

It was absolutely breathtaking.

When the solo came to an end, a hush swept across the band as every member on the field turned to stare at the trumpet soloist in absolute wonderment. Even Hanji was staring, Levi noticed, and Erwin’s baton hung limply at his side.

Levi couldn’t bring himself to look.

“Well then,” Dr. Zackly began, clearing his throat once to mask his own astonishment. Clearly, no one, not even the director, had expected a performance quite like that. “Would anyone else like to attempt the solo?”

The only answer was the band’s awed silence.

“I guess it’s unanimous then. The trumpet solo will go to you – congratulations, Mr. Jaeger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh. Poor Levi. Didn't even know what hit him.
> 
> * this is a work of fiction. Creative license was taken during the writing of this fic. (if you saw the asterisk this is referencing in the text, you'll know what I mean)
> 
> "Snow Pants or No Pants" was my favorite spirit day theme of all time. Only mine happened in late October, when the idea of wearing snow pants was much more appealing, and the idea of wearing no pants, decidedly less so. Made for a very funny rehearsal.
> 
> The in-text link you _definitely should have pressed_ is a piano cover of James Horner's "My Heart Will Go On," from Titantic, the theme for the ballad of the marching band show in this fic.
> 
> Next Time: People looking far too fine in marching band uniforms, the return of the all-knowing Hanji, and my favorite party game ~ Cards Against Humanity Charades. ;) 
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting, I hope to see you there!

**Author's Note:**

> This sprouted from what became an over-enthusiastic discussion about marching-band AUs with the lovely [kela-the-dragon-queen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kela_the_dragon_queen), and it devolved into a full cast-list during physics. Can't wait to write more!
> 
> My fanfic tumblr is [the-ugly-fic-ling](http://the-ugly-fic-ling.tumblr.com/), and I'd love to see you there! :D All feedback is lovingly appreciated!


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